Unspoken
by FidesNemo
Summary: After the war, Katniss spends most of her days alone. When an unexpected visitor shatters the fragile peace of her life, she is forced to confront her guilt, regrets, and doubts on a journey to recovery. NOTES: Prim and Finnick survived the revolution. Mrs. Everdeen still resides in Dist. 12.
1. Sleep

_Author Note:_

_Some time has passed (again) since my last publication. While I may have seemed completely inactive, I appreciate everyone who took the time to read my existing work. A few days ago, I came across this first chapter of an unfinished story set in the Hunger Games universe. I decided to post it after a bit of editing, just to give back to everyone who followed me during my long period of silence. If you would like to see this story continued, let me know with a favorite, follow, or review. Updates may be slow, but they will come. Thank you all._

**-1-**

**Sleep**

A late afternoon snow caught everyone by surprise. The storm brought with it biting winds that drove people indoors and built fantastic drifts in the meadow. I watched it swirl from my kitchen window until night fell, each moment regretting not taking my walk when I had the chance. This day was wasted. Then again, most of mine are. I have nothing to fill my time like Peeta has.

He's still at the bakery catering to all those who were unprepared for the snow. Someone always needs the extra food when there's bad weather. Being essential gives purpose to Peeta's life. He does whatever he can to serve the people of District Twelve and to serve me, and I love him for it – but not the way he wishes I did. That probably makes me selfish. I owe him everything.

No. I don't let my thoughts go down that path. Nothing good lies at the end. All that matters is the here and now. That's what he and Prim told me to tell myself when I feel the anguish inside clawing to get out.

Here and now.

Peeta knew he would be late tonight, so he asked Prim to stay with me. She came around dinnertime and tried to hide that she was there to keep an eye on me, but we both know I can't be trusted alone at night.

Here and now. My sister's presence comforts me. She's curled up asleep in the chair by the fireplace with book and cat faithfully in her lap. From my blanket cocoon on the couch, I watch her chest rise and fall. Rise and fall. Safe and alive and close. The fire crackles. My head nods, filling with the gray mist of half-dreams. Muffled voices murmur, as if I'm underwater and listening to people talk above the surface. A mockingjay sings the pattern I taught to Rue. A glass clinks. A chair scrapes on a floor. Those don't belong.

I jerk awake in a rush of panic. Someone is in the kitchen. I fling the blanket off and seize the fire poker from the hearth. The intruder hears. Quick footsteps come down the hall, and I prepare to strike. If only I had my bow I could –

"Katniss?" Peeta is suddenly silhouetted against the hallway light. "Easy. It's just me. I'm sorry."

Relief, embarrassment and anger hit me all at once. "It's fine." I lower the poker, but my heart won't stop pounding. I tense and step back when Peeta comes toward me. "It's fine," I say again, harsher. The fire is embers. How long was I out?

"What's going on?" Prim sits up, disturbing Buttercup.

"Nothing. I just got scared."

"Oh." She frowns. "I shouldn't have fallen asleep."

"You need your rest." I try to keep my voice neutral for her.

She glances at Peeta, then at the clock. "I should get back before Mom starts worrying. Are you okay?"

"Yeah." I replace the poker on the fireplace. "I'm good."

She hugs me and puts on her coat. "Lunch tomorrow?"

"Sure."

She ventures outside with a disgruntled Buttercup following at her heels. Snow is still coming down. It's falling peacefully now; the wind ceased hours ago, and most of the roads are plowed. Prim says goodnight and sets off down the lamp-lit street. It's about a mile back to the house she shares with our mother, but I know she'll be okay. With her hands in mittens and her pigtails peeking out from under a furry hat, she has the appearance of a little girl. Beneath that outward youth, though, is a woman stronger and more composed than I could ever be.

Peeta touches my shoulder, and this time I let him. It's the least I can do. "Do you want to go up to bed?"

No. I never want to sleep. I may not even be able to after a scare like this, but Peeta is tired, and I don't want to sit alone in the darkened house. So I nod, and he leads me upstairs. I crawl under the covers, and when he slides in beside me I murmur, "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For threatening you with a fire poker?"

"Don't worry. I survived." He smiles and kisses my hair. I keep waiting for these moments to make my heart flutter like I've heard they should. Peeta's closeness is welcome, but something always feels wrong when I think of what it means to him. For his sake, I wish I weren't so uncomfortable. He wants to make me his wife, but I have a hard time even saying 'I love you.' What will I do when much more than that is expected of me? A hard kernel of fear has grown in me over the past months – fear that eventually he'll realize it's futile and find someone else to keep warm at night. Fear that I will be left here to pass all my days in the woods or staring out the window. Maybe it would be better that way. After all, our lives no longer depend on my act.

Here and now. I have to stop this spiral before it keeps me up all night. To wipe my thoughts blank I count Peeta's rhythmic breaths as they tickle my neck. Slowly, my body and mind relax. I can still see snow quietly falling. I gaze at it until my eyes close and sleep takes me under.

In my dream I have a conversation with Madge Undersee. We sit together on a hill with fingers entwined as the sunset turns the winter countryside to gold. She wears the white dress she always saved for special days, and her hair falls over her shoulders in perfect waves. Even death cannot tarnish her beauty. I feel a tug at my heart when she turns her eyes to me. "Do you ever think of me?" she asks.

"Of course. I miss you every day."

"Are things better now?"  
"Yes. People are free again."

"So… it was all worth it?"

I don't answer. I can't.

She lays her head on my shoulder. "Are you happier?"

"I try not to think about what I feel." I wish I could feel forever like I do right now. I squeeze her hand.

"We could be happy. Together again, just like this."

We watch the sun sink low. I know we should be freezing, but I'm comfortable next to her. It's wrong, I suddenly think, that I survived the war and she did not.

"I don't blame you," she says as if reading my thoughts. "But I wish you'd come with me."

"I can't leave my sister."

"But I'm lonely."

"I can't…" Madge's familiar aura is changing. The safe, secure feeling is replaced with creeping dread. I don't want to be here anymore. A little cry escapes me when I look down – her eyes are filling with black.

"I'm cold, Katniss." Her breath chills my neck. "Won't you keep me warm?"

"Stop!" My eyes snap open. The bed is empty and the house is quiet. Gray morning light filters through the window. I let out a deep breath. I've never been so frightened after a dream visit from Madge. She was always an oasis among nightmares, a small light in the darkness, just as she was in life. Until now. To wash away the haunting image, I take our memory book from the bedside table drawer and flip to her page. There's a photo of us on our last day of school, taken by her father several years before my first Games. The smile on my face always surprises me. Only a few people could release that kind of happiness in me. I do miss Madge terribly. I took my time with her for granted, and now she's gone. Never again will we go walking in the woods together. Never again will I steady her arm as she aims the bow at trees, or hear her laugh with excitement when her arrows find their targets. She'll never play the piano for me or talk with me when no one else will. The lump in my throat grows until I can't hold back. I press my face into the pillow and cry for just one more day with my best friend.


	2. Phantoms

**-2-**

**Phantoms**

There is a pristine stillness in the air the morning after a snowfall. A soft blanket lies over everything, making the world clean and quiet. Even the noise of the construction crews and their machines can't reach me. Nestled against a tree trunk just beyond the edge of the white meadow, I am an island – the last person on Earth.

Winter has long since seeped through my clothes, but I welcome it. It takes focus to ignore the cold in my limbs. When I concentrate on this tangible thing, my thoughts can't stray to dark places. It's easy to stay in the here and now far from town, far from people, safe in the light of day. I'm taken back to the countless days just like this one when I endured the elements to feed my family. With no one relying on me anymore, I could simply enjoy the solitude forever. Time itself is frozen here. I sit until my body is numb and I can drift in nonexistence without bounds or fears, without past, present, or future. There is only the snow, the trees, and the gray sky above.

_Snap._

I twist around, sending a painful spasm up my leg. "Who's there?" A squirrel jumps from branch to branch high above me, but still my neck prickles. The twig sounded much closer. The squirrel vanishes into its nest and silence falls again. Nothing else moves. I wait and listen. I want to return to numbness, but it's no use trying to relax now with my veins full of adrenaline. I shiver and stand, ignoring my cramping muscles as I hurry out of the tree line. Such a little fright shouldn't set me so on edge, but I am unarmed, and my imagination has no trouble seeing threats concealed among the trees that were supposed to hide me. It's better to leave than to allow fear into my sanctuary. Besides, Prim will worry if I'm not home when she arrives. She'll be there soon. Yes, that's why I'm leaving.

I feel eyes on my back all the way to the fence.

Lunch with Prim is often a quiet affair, but it's a comfortable quiet. There's no awkward twist in my gut as when long silences stretch between Peeta and me – like he's waiting for me to speak when I have nothing to say. Prim doesn't need to fill each moment with words. She just gets plates and cups for us and lays out the sandwiches she brought along. Buttercup jumps on the table, but I don't even push him off. He's earned my tolerance through his loyalty to her.

Prim tells me briefly about her morning at the clinic, then asks how I feel. I can tell from the way she's searching my face that she's thinking about last night.

"Better," I reply. "I took my walk."

"There's a foot of snow down!"

I shrug. "Never let weather spoil my fun before."

Her musical laugh pulls a little smile from me. I can be this way around Prim. Peeta and I have had similar conversations, but he tends to escalate them by reminding me that I have people who care about me, and that isolation won't help me escape the past. Even if Prim feels that way, she doesn't say so. She accepts what I need to do for myself. I hope she knows how much that means to me.

Too soon, it's time for her to go back. I tell her not to worry about the dishes; cleaning up will give me something to do. She puts her coat on and says goodbye, and I return to the kitchen to clear the table. Each footstep echoes; each plate and cup I set in the sink seems impossibly loud. Silence in an empty house is not the same as silence in the woods. Here, it is out of place. There should be a family – children, laughter, pictures on the walls… Happiness. Instead there is only me, and I don't belong.

It's then that I happen to glance up at the window. Behind my faint reflection stands my dead friend, dressed all in white with a hand outstretched to me. The shock takes my breath away, but there is no one there when I spin around to confront the vision. I turn off the water and listen for anything that would suggest I'm not alone. All I hear is my own pounding heart.

I never believed in ghosts – at least not ones outside my own head – but that doesn't make the crawling dread inside any less real. My nightmares are leaking into the waking world, and the shadows in this big, empty house give them strength. I have to get out. I don't care where I go, as long as it's not here. My boots and coat are still damp from this morning, but I pull them on anyway and stumble outside, slamming the door on all the foolish fear.

I don't go back to the woods. A wind has picked up, bringing clouds and cold down from the north. It's nothing I haven't endured before, but I don't want to be out there if another storm is on its way. Instead, I wander through the deserted streets of the Seam. Acres of charred rubble were cleared away in the course of a year, and many houses were rebuilt bigger and better than before. Lives were reclaimed. Even so, it's impossible to erase all the scars of the war I started. Here stands a tree, blackened and dead. There lies an abandoned foundation. Concrete steps lead eerily up to nowhere.

And there – my feet have led me to where Gale once lived. Someone new now enjoys the little property he and his family vacated. I wonder if he likes life in District Two. He was probably glad to leave Twelve behind, as I know he was glad to leave me behind. The Games and the war drove wedges between us, not least of all Peeta. It isn't fair to blame Peeta, though. Gale never accepted what I had to do to keep my family and myself alive. In his mind, all it takes to defy the odds is a righteous cause and a fiery spirit. Freedom or death. I chose survival. From then on, we were never the same. Thinking about it now, I realize Gale and Peeta have more in common than they'll ever admit: they both gave me love I could not return. From the bottom of my heart, I wish I could, but I was always terrible at lying – especially to myself.

Maybe I should have gone to the woods. A familiar lump forms in my throat. I can't stand here all night, but I don't want to go back to the house. Peeta won't be home for hours. Indecision keeps me rooted in the middle of the road until I have to step aside for a battered truck. The miners riding in the bed give me strange looks. A few of them have bags of fresh bread.

Of course – I'll go to Peeta. The bakery is close enough to reach before dark. I imagine the surprise on his face when I walk in unexpected. I'll go straight to the back and curl up on the flour sacks until he's ready to close. I won't have to interact, but I won't be alone with the phantom of Madge.

I leave the road and cut through a few alleys to shorten the distance. Another storm is definitely coming on. Even if we don't get more snow, temperatures will definitely plummet tonight. I hope Peeta doesn't decide to stay late again. The closer I get to the cluster of shops around the bakery, the more people I pass on the road. No one pays me much mind. They probably don't recognize me with my hair curtaining my face. Good. Ahead, my destination spills warm light and delicious smells out into the winter dusk. That's all that matters.

Footsteps crunch toward me, and I move instinctively aside. My eyes flick up for an instant to see a gaze locked on mine. The face looking back at me was burned into my memory in the first arena. I know her even in the sharp relief of the bakery's glow. I gasp and jump back, but the girl – face again obscured by shadow – barely spares me an odd glance before continuing on her way, making no move to confront me. Soon, she's disappeared into the gathering night, and the only eyes on me are those of bewildered bystanders. My cheeks burn. Clove was no more real than Madge, but my fear has never been worse. I clutch my coat around me and run to the safety of the bakery.


	3. Visitor

_Author note: I am sorry for the gap between updates. Thank you to everyone who took the time to leave feedback. Chapter 3 is short, but I hope a bit of action will make up for the two previous installments of exposition.  
_

**-3-**

**Visitor**

In the morning, I wake in a cold bed. It's late – almost ten – and Peeta is long gone. A shiver crawls up my spine, and I think of the warm flour sacks that gave me a few hours of sleep in the bakery. The respite never lasts.

Out of bed and down the stairs. I feel wrong. There was a dream last night, but I've lost the details. All that remains are foggy voices and a foreboding feeling. My nerves are on edge. Phantom pains dance through my stomach. Hoping some tea will calm it all, I sit on the kitchen counter and put water on to boil. The stove's heat loosens my tense neck and breathes life back into my limbs, but it doesn't banish the disembodied anxiety that clings to me like a spider web.

Before the kettle can shriek, I turn the burner off and set the tea to brew. Open all the curtains. Let in the gray light. Take a quilt from the couch and a cinnamon bun from the breadbox, and sit cross-legged at the table with my mug.

Outside, the wind hasn't lessened. It moans against the windows and spins snow into waves against trees and fences. I wish I could walk today. It looks so cold. It is cold. Maybe I'll go anyway and sink deeper into nothingness on the edge of the meadow. The drifts out there could cover me.

Madge is out there in the drifts.

_I'm cold, Katniss. Won't you keep me warm?_

A musical chime makes me jump. I'm bewildered before I realize that it's the doorbell. I only heard it once before; Effie rang it when she visited months ago. Otherwise, we never need it. Mom and Prim have keys, and Haymitch just pounds if the door is locked. So who could this be? I almost consign it to imagination along with the voice that just whispered in my ear.

It rings again.

What am I so afraid of?

The visitor is knocking by the time I reach the door. My hand rests on the knob. Turning it is a monumental effort.

I find myself staring into a pair of green eyes set under dark brows. Her hair is shorter now, but those are the same eyes that bored into mine when she told me how she would kill me. The same ones I saw last night outside the bakery. The teacup falls from my hand and shatters.

"Katniss," says Clove. "It's been a long time."

The metal taste of terror. Impossible. I try to wet my parched tongue, determined not to run from a ghost like a fool again. Here and now. Clove is dead. This isn't real, but for the life of me, she seems real – from the dusting of freckles on her cheeks to the fur-lined hood of her coat.

"You're dead."

"I was. For a little while." She smirks, and I break. The expression connects with the sadistic smile from that morning by the Cornucopia. My leaden body is jolted awake, and I run for my life.

"Wait!"

Down the hall, through the kitchen, to the closet by the back door. I haven't touched my bow for a year, but I know right where it is. Her footsteps pursue me as I nock an arrow. She appears in the kitchen and pulls up short. "Don't!"

My arm trembles. I'm out of shape. She takes one step, and I let it fly, an inch off target. She yells and rushes at me. Whip the bow and catch her above the eye. She slams into the refrigerator and staggers back, holding her temple.

"Nnnnn… Not now…"

In my confusion, I miss my chance to reload and shoot her. She's already retreating down the hall, leaning on the wall for support. I didn't hit her that hard. I pursue her to the living room where she runs out of wall and stumbles against the couch, clutching her head. Her eyebrow is split where the bow struck her. She thrusts her hand into her coat, but instead of the knife I expect, she drags out a medicine bottle, wrenches off the cap, and gulps a pill. Fearing a feint, I approach slowly with arrow ready. She holds her hand up to me and sinks to her knees.

This isn't right. Clove doesn't surrender. A thousand questions spin through my head, but only one escapes: "What's wrong with you?"

She points to her head.

_You know, it's too bad you couldn't help your little friend. That little girl. What was her name again? Rue? Well, we killed her._

My chance for revenge…

Thresh raising a rock.

Clove didn't kill Rue. I squint against the flashback. Here and now. Whatever this is, it's not the Games. My surroundings surface above the instinct to fight. We aren't in the arena. Not the arena. Real or vision, she's defenseless. Rue wouldn't want me to be an executioner. I lower the bow. She lets out a breath and shuts her eyes, and neither of us moves for an eternity.

Finally, my thoughts start to move again. "Why are you here?" I ask. "How are you here?"

"Why? Wanted to see you," she slurs. "How? Not so simple."

Part of me doubts this is happening at all. She's just a shadow brought to life in my mind. I watched her die years ago, but now she's bleeding on my couch and down her white coat. The iron smell is in my nose.

She climbs carefully to her feet. "I can explain. Up to you if you want to listen, but it's the least you can do after fucking up my face."

"You attacked me."

"Self defense. Should I stay? Or did I come all the way to this coal pit for nothing?"

I want her to leave, but also to explain. If she is a vision, she will fade soon. If she is really standing here after I watched her fall dead to the ground, then I want to know how.

I have to know.

"Stay."


	4. Fault

**-4-**

**Fault**

She sits across the table from me, holding a bag of snow to her face.

She.

Clove.

Nearly half an hour passed in silence while she nursed her gash and I cleaned the blood from the cushions. Now when I try to speak, I falter. When she tries…

She hasn't tried.

I feel her eyes on me, though I look at my hands on the table. Each time I glance up, I expect her to vanish, but she's always there.

Her voice startles me. "I can see the questions in your head. Plan on voicing them?"

I raise my eyes to meet hers. "Is this real?"

"This stings like hell, so I'm going with yes." She sighs. "I guess I owe you that explanation."

I barely nod.

She adjusts the snow bag on her eyebrow. "The last thing I remember is fighting with you. It's weird. I remember our positions, every word I said, the heat on my back… then nothing. I don't remember _him _at all. I watched the tapes – saw what happened – but my memory cuts out until I woke up. At least that's what I call it. I could think before my eyes worked – like floating in darkness surrounded by voices and pain. Damn, the pain. It was how I knew I was alive."

"That's… terrible."

"It's what happens when your skull caves in. Never really goes away. Some days are worse than others, and then there are the bad attacks."

"I set it off by hitting you."

"Don't be too proud of yourself. Blood pressure sets it off. Stress, exercise, or no reason at all. Sucks," she snorts. "But beating me in the face didn't help."

I feel bad.

Guilty.

I shouldn't.

"Anyway," she continues, "I learned I was part of a project run by Snow and his doctors. They revived me from some kind of stasis, but I got the hell out before they were done fixing my brain."

"Revived? Why? Were there others?"

"Not that I ever saw or heard." She studies me. "You're thinking of the little girl from Eleven, aren't you? Doubtful. Your friend would be a stupid choice for the job I was supposed to do."

"Which was…?"  
"Stop the Mockingjay." She grins and laughs at my expression. "Relax. I had other ideas from the start. Snow wanted me to be his personal assassin, but he made the mistake of thinking I'd do his bidding. I played along. Answered questions. Took the sedations and the restraints…" She raps her fingernails on the tabletop. "Finally, we got to physical conditioning. Oh, that felt good. My hands remembered their training. All the years of practice." Her tongue works against her teeth. "When I was strong enough, and the nurse came to give me my nightly shots, I got my fingers around a syringe and put it right through his eye."

I swallow the image she just gave me. "And then just walked out?"

"Wasn't that simple. I had to slit a few throats, but it was a medlab, not a prison. I'm sure it would have been harder if not for your war going on in the background."

"It wasn't my war."

"Whatever. Getting out was easier than staying out once news of my escape got back to Snow. My skills gave me freedom, and then helped me survive on the streets, in the wild, anywhere I had to go to get away from peacekeepers and bounty hunters."

"How long did you live that way?"

"Until you took the Capitol."

"Stop saying it was all me."

"What's your problem? Snow brought me back to stop you, not the rebels. You. Like it or not, it was your war. You started it with those berries, which was fucking brilliant, by the way. See, we're not so different. We're both survivors, in more ways than one."

"You're wrong!" Panic rises in my chest. "I am nothing like you, and you need to go."

"What? You told me to stay."

"I shouldn't have." It comes out like a sob.

She looks at me in angry disbelief. "I came all the way from goddamn District Two, and you're telling me to leave? I wanted to see you! I came here – _came here – _to see you! I bet my ass that's more than any of your revolutionary friends have done. Isn't it?"

"Out! Get out!"

"Fine! Sit here alone! The fuck do I care?" She stands up and throws the snow bag wetly into the sink. "But I can only afford nonstop passage home, and I can't get it for another week. So I'm stuck at the inn if you change your mind. Mockingjay." She sneers and stalks out of the kitchen.

The front door slams.

I am rooted to the chair, cracked and leaking and trembling. Here and now means nothing, even if the ghost is gone. Her voice rings in my ears. My fault. All my fault. Let me be alone. It is no more than I deserve. The death, the pain, the suffering washes over me until I drown.

* * *

When Peeta comes home, he shakes me awake and interrogates me about the arrow. The teacup shards I missed by the door. My scattered state of mind.

I lie.

I say I thought about hunting, and tried to draw the bow just to test my strength. Fingers slipped. Didn't go hunting. And I just dropped my cup this morning and missed a few pieces, okay? Why do you have to make a scene about it just leave me alone I'mtiredandIwanttogotobed!

I cry. He holds me. I pretend it's a comfort.

I don't come close to sleeping until dawn breaks the next morning.


	5. Alone

**-5-**

**Alone**

A day blandly passes, and another sleepless night. I dream of Clove, but not of our death struggle. Just her, sitting next to me and studying me with her green eyes.

Two days pass. Peeta's been strange around me. I don't think he believes my lie. We don't talk. Or, I don't talk to him. I don't need the questions.

On the third morning, the phone rings. It's Prim. "Katniss? Oh, good. I worried you'd be out."

"I'm here."

"I need a favor." She hesitates. "Mom's order of antibiotics was late. It's at the depot now. Could you, um… do you think you could pick it up for us?"

I chew my lip.

"Katniss?"

"Yeah." I swallow. "Yeah, I can do that."

"Thank you! I hate to rush you, but we're running low, and-"

"I'll be there. Don't worry." So easy to say now.

She hangs up, and I don't move for a few minutes. Gathering dusk won't hide me this time. The streets will be crowded, the shops busy. But Prim needs me, and the bakery will be close by.

So will the inn.

But Prim needs me.

The walk through town is grueling. I take all the shortcuts and alleys I know. Even with my hood up, people recognize me and watch me pass. I pretend they don't exist. I have one destination, one goal. Then I'll flee to the meadow where no eyes can find me.

The depot is awash with people. Mom's antibiotics weren't the only things late in arriving. I wait my turn in line, doing my best not to meet anyone's eyes. Part of me is always looking out for Clove. If she approached me in this crowd, I wouldn't have time to react.

The kindly woman behind the counter doesn't even ask for identification. She fetches two boxes bearing Mom's name and tells me to wish her well. The medicine is heavy. I'm glad it isn't far to the clinic. I resist the need to stop and rest. That's a chance for someone to try and converse.

At the clinic, I go in the back door. Prim's face lights up when she sees me. "You made it! Thank you so much." She hugs me.

Over her shoulder, I look for Mom. She must be busy with patients, and that's fine. Last time we talked, we fought. It's been a while.

"Really, thank you," she says. "I know it wasn't easy for you."

I want to be annoyed by that, she's right. "You needed me."

She smiles. "Why don't you come over for dinner tonight?"

"I – um – I guess. Shouldn't you ask Mom?"

"You don't need permission. She misses you. And so do I." She thanks me again after I agree, and I go on my way. Talking to Prim alleviated the worst of my anxiety, so I decide to stop at the bakery and see Peeta on the way home. There's only one other customer talking animatedly with him at the counter. She turns when the door squeaks.

"Katniss!" A much-changed Delly Cartwright runs to me and gives me the most unexpected hug of my life. "I haven't seen you in forever! How are you?"

"Still alive," I stammer.

"She laughs as if I'm joking. "I'm so happy to see you. Peeta says you spend most days hiding at home."

"Oh. Does he?" Again, I can't be annoyed, because it's true. "You, um… You look good."

"Thanks!" She beams. "I feel good. At least something came from eating nothing but mush in District Thirteen."

"You find more bright sides than anyone I know," says Peeta.

"That's what you have to do." She looks between us. "I won't keep you any longer. It was great to see you, Katniss. Take care. Stop by the Old Oak and say hi sometime." She's out the door before I can ask what she meant.

Peeta's attention returns to me. "Two visits from you in one week? I must have done something right."

"I was passing through. Errand for Mom and Prim. Does Delly come in here much?"

"She drops in most days."

"You never mentioned her."

He shrugs. "Guess I never thought it was worth mentioning. She works at the Old Oak Inn down the street. Got her brother a job there, too, to keep him out of the mines. I think he's still too young for work at all, but I guess they need to make ends meet somehow."

My thoughts drift to the inn. Someone else waits for me there. Or not. Part of me is convinced Clove never existed at all, as if the story I repeat to Peeta is becoming reality. I hadn't considered actually going to the inn, but now… it may be the only way to find out if what happened three days ago was real.

"Um. I should probably get going."

"Oh." He looks as surprised as he did when I walked in. "Okay. You going to the meadow?"

"For a while."

"Thanks for coming. Seeing you brightens the day."

"Prim asked me to come over for dinner, so if you want, you can meet me there when you close."

I know that expression – the ecstatic, hopeful one he gets when I show signs of normalcy. "See you there. I love you."  
"I love you too."

I don't go to the meadow. The short distance to the inn feels like miles. My stomach is tight and my mouth dry. A sign swings under the awning: _Old Oak Inn & Tavern. _This is it, then. A bell tinkles when I push open the door. The interior is all bare floors and low lighting, but it's clean and calming. Food smells drift in from the bar. Footsteps approach, and Delly emerges from a back room. "Hey! Didn't expect to see you again so soon. Can I get something for you? Plenty of open tables right now."

"Um. Actually, I'm looking for someone." I try to sound sure of myself. "A girl, about our age. Dark hair down to her shoulders?"

"Hmm. I think I know who you mean." She flips through a ledger. "You must know her? I never saw her around before. Pretty serious about her privacy, and always looking over her shoulder." She lowers her voice to a whisper. "I think she might have gotten mugged or… or something. I hope she's not in trouble. Is she a friend of yours?"

So it is her. "Yeah… She, uh, told me to come by."

"Here." She points to a ledger entry. "Room 209."

I consider telling her to check for a body if I don't come back down, but I just thank her and walk up the creaking stairs. I shouldn't be doing this. I should leave it be and go home, go to my meadow, go back to Peeta. But now that I'm here in this place with my memories confirmed, I feel a pull. My feet take me forward.

206, 207, 208. There aren't many rooms in the Old Oak. 209 sits in the corner of the second floor. Through the hallway window I can see the bakery, but the world outside – and anyone who could help me – feels miles away. At least it's quiet. Delly will hear me if I scream. I raise my hand, hold my breath, and knock.

Feet shuffle inside and stop on the other side of the door. There's no peephole to see me through. "Who's there?"

It's my last chance to run, but I'm rooted. "It's me."

A lock clicks. The door opens, and there stands Clove in loose pants and a sweater that's too big for her. It offsets the harshness of the gash in her eyebrow. "I didn't think you'd come."

"Should I go?"

"No." We stare at each other until she walks back into the room, leaving the door open. I follow her and shut it behind me. The inn's few homey decorations clash with a medicine bottle and a belt full of knives on the writing desk. Her white coat – cleaned of blood – hangs on the back of the chair that she spins around and straddles. "Throw your jacket anywhere."

I forgot I was wearing it. I sit on the unmade bed and she studies me just like in the dream. Those eyes, those green eyes. The left one is still a little swollen.

"I hope that doesn't hurt too much." It's all I can think to say.

"I've had worse. In a few weeks, it'll be a badass scar. I like it." She chuckles at my expression. "So what did Loverboy say when you told him I came around?"

"I didn't tell him."

"Hm. I'm flattered, I think. How'd you pass off the arrow in the wall?"

"Slipped stringing the bow."

She laughs. "And he bought it?"

"I don't think so. No."

"What's the deal with you two? You don't have to keep up the act anymore."

"It's not an act."

"Hah. Right. You're lucky those Capitol idiots bought it. None of us ever did."

_None of us. _Heat rushes to my palms. "I don't want to talk about the Games."

"It's true. I could always tell you weren't into him. Remember, I watched the videos. Half the time, you looked rigid as a board. The rest, you looked so perfectly in love that it can't be anything but an act. But he was genuine. All about you. Still is. That dynamic was entertaining."

"Shut up! I didn't come here to _entertain_ you."

Something new crosses her face. She doesn't apologize, but rests her chin on her hands and changes tack. "Why _did_ you come here? I mean, you threw me out a few days ago. Now you're looking for me?"

"I needed to know if you were real or not."

"If I was real or not?" I know her smirk is meant to needle me, and I hate it, but it fits her face perfectly. "That feeling sucks, doesn't it? Wondering if you can trust yourself. It's like you're losing your mind piece by piece."

I nod slowly.

"And you think it'll get better with time, but it never does. Finally, you can't take it anymore, and the only way forward is to face the demons head-on."

"Is that why you're here?"

"Are you afraid of me?"

If that was meant to throw me off, it worked. I don't know what she wants to hear. "Yes," I admit.

"Don't be. I'm not going to kill you."

"In my nightmares, you try."

"I bet." She's silent for a moment. "In my nightmares, I'm on the run again. They never seem to catch me, but I know they're searching. Sometimes it's a forest, sometimes an endless, empty plain. All I can do is run, because they're coming to take me back to that room."

"Peacekeepers?"

"Hell if I know. Someone. Something. Doesn't matter. But the worst ones are when I'm standing in front of whole groups of people. Young, old, kids… A voice tells me to kill, and I do. I see myself claiming life after life, and they never fight back. They just stand there! And when it's over I wake up feeling… shocked. Sick. Does that sound stupid?"

"It's not stupid. Surprising, but not stupid."

"Why surprising?"  
"You're saying all this, and I want to believe you, but… I only knew you as my enemy. The girl who wanted to rip me apart."

"That's all I let you know! You didn't see me, just my tactics. You chose appealing to the crowd; I chose being the best killer. Everyone looks at tributes like me and assumed we played the Games for glory. For the love of the slaughter. Some did, sure, but not all. The rest of us wondered why the rest of you didn't prepare for the chance to provide for your people. District Twelve isn't the only place where kids can starve in the streets. Where winter is hell if you have no shelter. No medicine. We tried to make sure that didn't happen to us. _I _tried to make sure, but I failed. Instead, you won, and started a war that consumed everyone I fought for. Parents, two brothers, girlfriend. All dead. Killed in raids while I was in hiding."

My stomach drops as I think of the fighting in District Two. "Clove… I'm so sorry."

"I could hate you. Very easily," she continues. "I could blame you for everything, but you didn't give the orders. You didn't drop the bombs. And by some twist of fate, you're the only one I have left from my old life."

"I… I can't be. You must have had others. Friends?"

"Do I seem like a good friend to you? There was one person outside my family. Just one, and she's gone. I'm alone. That's my demon, Katniss Everdeen. I am alone in a world that has no place for me."

Maybe it's how thin her voice became. Maybe it's her disheveled hair, or the sweater sleeves swallowing her hands. For just a beat she looks as fragile as I feel after waking from a haunted night. In her eyes I see ash and grief and the darkness of despair. Then it's gone. Hardness returns to her features and she fixes her gaze on me, but this time I meet it without flinching away. "You're not alone," I tell her. "Not anymore."


	6. Light

_A/N: Thank you for all of your support! I am sorry for the slow updates. It is hard to find time to write around work and life, but your favorites and follows keep me coming back. I love reading reviews. It's an amazing feeling when someone likes my writing enough to leave even a few words in reply. I hope you all enjoy this new chapter. _

**-6-**

**Light**

"You're not alone. Not anymore."

"Don't say things you don't mean."

"I do mean it." As long as I keep talking, I won't dwell on the belt of knives so close on the desk. "I've been alone a long time too."

"I noticed. You're a bit of a recluse. So far, I've only seen you sitting in a field, out at night with your hood up to hide your face, and now. Not social behavior."

"It _was_ you by the bakery! And when did you see me in the meadow?" I remember with a shock the feeling of being watched from the trees.

"I came here to find you, so I found you."

She found my meadow, my sanctuary. Silence stretches until she leaves the chair and sits with me on the bed, still a safe distance away, and focuses intently on the window. Are we both out of things to say already? She brushes a strand of hair from her face.

"What made you change your look?" I try.

"You mean this?" She bats at the ends tickling her neck. "Didn't have a choice. They chopped it off when they went digging inside my head. I woke up with hardly any left, and it's been growing back ever since."

"Oh." Not what I expected to hear. "For whatever it's worth, I like it."

Incredulous eyes turn to me. "You're complimenting my hair?"

"Should I not?"

"It's just surreal. Normal conversation with you. I always wondered what it would be like." She turns back to the window. Pale light shines on her face, making her freckles stand out and her green eyes shine. I can't look away before she catches me staring, but she seems more bemused than angry. "Yes?"

"I – uh – nothing."

She quirks her uninjured brow. "Sure. Still trying to decide if I'm real or not?"

"No."

"Then what? You have questions on your mind."

"Um. You mentioned a girlfriend."

"Straight for the heart. Should have known."

"Sorry. I'd like to hear about her." _Instead of what you and the other Careers thought of Peeta and me._ "You don't have to…"

"No, it's fine." With a sigh, she stretches across the bed and takes a locket from the nightstand. When she opens it, a bright-eyed blonde stares serenely out at me. "Shay. Her name was Shay."

"She's gorgeous."

"Don't let it fool you. She was fierce. We met as sparring partners. First time we were matched up, she put me flat on my back inside a minute. That's not good when you have a reputation to maintain. We fought again, and I lost even faster."

"That's what attracted you to her?"

"Partly. It's why I was obsessed with her at first. Even the boys were leery of me, but she had no fear. We weren't paired together again for weeks, but I'd see her around, and she'd give me these looks. Infuriating, _playful_ looks, like little challenges. So. One night I ran into her taking a shortcut home from the market. No one else around. It was time to win my pride back." Her eyes haven't left the picture. "I came at her. Pulled a knife to try and scare her. She didn't even flinch – just grabbed my wrist and twisted my arm so I was bent over backward and looking up at her. Before I could fight back…"

"What happened?"

"…she kissed me. First time anyone had. I didn't know what to do, what to say. I didn't know that's what all those _looks _meant. It just happened, and I was so – so stunned. I tried to act pissed, because I knew I should be, but she saw right through me. Always had, I guess."

It's funny to think of Clove wearing a shocked face, but inside I feel a twinge of jealousy. My past is devoid of such stories. "What then? Did you start… seeing each other?"

"Slowly. I was so out of my element that it took me a while to come to terms with how I felt. It seems stupid now. I like girls – so what? Go to hell if you have a problem. Unfortunately, it's not that simple when her parents were the ones with the problem. They knew we were friends, but nothing more. Telling them was the only thing she was ever afraid of." She replaces the locket on the table. "What do _you_ think about it?"

"You're asking me?" I falter. "I never knew anyone like that, honestly. Does it happen enough in District Two for people to dislike it?"

"That's the thing – it doesn't happen much anywhere but the Capitol, so to some, it's wrong. Doesn't matter where you're from; there are lots of cowards who fear any challenge to their precious little worlds." She fixes her stare on me. "You never answered me."

Someone comes to mind who I had fonder feelings for than Peeta – and it isn't Gale. Clove doesn't need to know that. "I think love is love."

"Huh. Don't get sappy with me." But the little twitch of her lips isn't a smirk. It's real. "At least you don't think like them. Not that I'd be devastated if you did, but we might as well understand each other right from the start."

"We might as well." I try to memorize every detail of her lingering smile.

We pass the time this way, sometimes talking, sometimes not. She tells me about her brothers and how she was teaching them to throw like her. "They were starting to get it. Whenever they got one to stick perfectly – you know, point first with the blade straight in – oh, you never saw kids more excited. But it was still all fun for them. Not life and death yet. I always admired what you did for your sister, because I would have done the same for them in an instant. Cato tried to say it was all a stunt to draw sponsors, just like everything between you and Peeta."

It was too much to hope to avoid the Games altogether. Adrenaline starts to crawl through my stomach. "Did he?"

"Yeah. But I knew at least your volunteering wasn't bullshit."

"I wasn't even thinking. All that mattered was saving her."

"It must be a great feeling to lay down your life for someone you care for."

"Where did you get that idea? It's not a great feeling – it's going off to die! The only thing worse would have been watching _her_ go off to die. Why do we have to talk about this?"

"Sorry. It's just that the Games shaped our lives. Hard to understand each other if we try to ignore that."

"I want to ignore it. I want to forget!"

"We can't forget. If everyone forgets, it could all happen again."

"I didn't say everyone. I said me. Just me!" The panic rises into my throat. "Haven't I earned that?"

She sits up. "You want to hide. You've _been _hiding. Where has it gotten you?"

Fingers dig into palms. Why did I come here? What was I thinking?

"This isn't you." I look up into gleaming eyes. "I should have said this when I first came around, but I was angry and in pain, and you know how it goes… But this isn't you. This is someone else – someone dominated by fear. You aren't that person."

"Then you don't know me very well."

"I know who you used to be," she says. "And I'm going to help you find her again. The Mockingjay shouldn't be –"

"Don't. Call. Me. That."

"-shouldn't be so scared of memories and dreams."

"What about you?" I demand. "You said you have nightmares too!"

"Of course I do. But they're just nightmares. I wake up, and I go on living." She hasn't raised her voice, but there's fire in it. "Hell, you have it better than I do – your brain's not broken. Wake up, and go on living."

Wake up and go on living. Here and now. If only any of it were so simple. She doesn't understand. "I have to go."

"I think that's a lie."

I get up and snatch my coat.

"Katniss."

"What?"

"Don't run. Please."

"I have to go," I repeat. "I'll… I'll come back tomorrow. Okay?"

She studies me. "I'll hold you to that."

"Fine." I go for the door.

"Katniss."

"What?!"

"Thanks for coming. It was good to have company."

Can't imagine the company was very good. I nod. "See you."

I shut the door and pause for a moment to collect and calm myself. The light from the hallway window is fading. Outside it looks cold. There's no point in shivering all the way back to my house. I'll go right to Mom and Prim's. Their place is smaller, but it's comforting. Everything reminds me of Prim, and that chases the shadows away.

Downstairs, Delly is gone from the reception desk. I hate saying I'm glad for that, but I am. It's better that she not ask any more questions about the girl in room 209.

* * *

Buttercup is thoroughly disgruntled when I interrupt his nap. He hisses at me as I take off my coat and boots.

"Shut up and go back to sleep." I ignore his dirty looks and light the fireplace. Despite our rocky relationship, he's a living thing to talk to, but one who won't expect a real conversation. I can appreciate that. "Prim will be home soon." And then I should tell her. Clove isn't subtle. If it gets out that I saw her, I want Prim to hear it from me first. I don't want to lose her trust, and of all people, I know she will keep it quiet.

It's dark outside when I finally hear voices at the door, but I have the house welcoming and bright. Mom looks shocked when she comes in. "Oh – Katniss! What are you doing here?"

She doesn't know? "Prim asked…"

"I told her to come for dinner." Prim is obviously pleased with herself. "Thought it would make a nice surprise."

"Well. I could get used to coming home to a warm house. Thank you." Mom hugs me. "I miss you when you stay away so long." I brace myself for an uncomfortable conversation, but she makes no mention of our last argument – just smiles sadly and teases my hair off my shoulders. "Come on. You must be hungry."

She heads into the kitchen, but I hang back with Prim.

"I need to talk to you later. Alone."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. Just… new."

"Is it about Peeta?"

"No. And I don't want him to know. At least not yet."

"Okay…"

Mom's voice drifts in to us. "Prim, can you help me?"

"Coming." We go in, and she tells me to sit.

"I can give a hand too."

"Oh, no, no!" says Mom. "You just relax and keep us company. We'll take care of everything."

* * *

When we finish eating, I insist on helping to clean up. In those twenty minutes, I feel closer to the two of them than I have since the Games tore my life apart. It's possible – just barely possible – to forget that the last three years ever happened. We're a family again.

The feeling persists as we head into the living room to sit by the fire together. I curl up on the couch and listen to them talk quietly over Buttercup's purring. Soon enough, Mom nods off. My eyes start to droop too, but then Prim appears in front of my face.

"Hey," she whispers. "You can't go to sleep until you tell me the news."

"Mm. Is she asleep?"

"Yep. Spill."

I should have thought more carefully about how I'd break this. I'm not even certain why I'm telling her. "I met someone today. Or I guess, met _with _someone. She's different from when I first knew her. At least, I think she is."

"She? Who is it?"

I almost lie and say Delly. Almost. "Well. Do you remember a girl? From the Games?" I'm glad we're whispering. Otherwise, my voice would shake. "From District Two?"

"I remember girls from lots of Games," she says. Her face darkens. "What's her name?"

"Clove."

"Clove? The one who tried to kill you?"

I nod.

"But – she's dead!"

"No. It's a long story, but no. She came here looking for me."

"Have you lost your mind?!"

"Shh! I don't think she wants to hurt me."

"Of course she does! She's a murderer, Katniss…" She pulls at her pigtails. "She wouldn't suddenly be your friend. I can't lose you. Not after all this."

"I was afraid of that at first too, but she had chances to kill me if she wanted to. I'm still here."

"I don't like it. I don't like it!" She shakes her head. "Someone must have sent her. Is she still here?"

"Yes."

"Don't go back. Please." She grabs my hand. "Promise me you won't."

"I…" A knock at the door cuts me off. Peeta must be here. "Not a word to him."

"Promise me!"

"Fine! I promise. But not a word."

She gets up slowly with a glare that disappears by the time she lets Peeta in. Mom wakes up too. The moment is over, and I lied to my sister. It hurts, but she wanted me to make a promise I couldn't keep. Maybe I shouldn't have told her after all. Shouldn't have burdened her with the worry.

I say goodbye to Mom and thank her. Prim gives me a look over her shoulder, but she kept my secret. For now.

As we walk home, Peeta tells me I seem excited. That's not how I'd describe the feeling inside me, but I just shrug and give him a little smile. "It was a good night."

We're passing by the inn. A lamp glows in the corner room.


End file.
